Arms in the Mist
by AnnaSkydrac
Summary: Hunted, like an animal, he ran through underground passageways, with absolutely no purpose to live. His every reason for living perished in flames, like those that were now swallowing the Opera House. And the notorious forest was his only refuge, the only place where he could die in silence, alone. Or could he? The music of the night continues...
1. Les Bois des Soupirs

**_Be warned that the chapter might not be exciting, it may even bore you, but be patient. The intention of this fan fiction is to develop and establish a good pace of both the plot and of the characters' development. I do not intend to rush anywhere and as long as I have an interest in writing this story, I suppose the new chapters will be updated every two weeks or so._**

* * *

It was a cold, winter night. The twinkling diamonds adorned the black velvet gown of the night heavens and the creamy-pale orb of the moon glowed faintly. The ground slept under the blanket of snow, lulled to sleep by the melodies of nightingales. Only they were bold enough to defy the bitter coldness. The forest was slumbering. There was not a single creature roaming through the woods.

He knew this deep, unfriendly forest could be his only refuge.

* * *

Through the secret passages beneath the Opera House_, _he ran. Like a wild animal hunted by dogs, like a deer by the wolves, he ran for he was chased. He could hear the shouts, echoing from above and all around. _Murderer_, they called him. _Monster, _they branded him. He was all that, and worse.

His legs had carried him through maze-like corridors and secret doors more on an intuitive sense for direction rather than being aware himself of the paths he had taken. Heavy defeat he suffered tonight had thrown his mind in total disarray.

Why was he running away then? Nothing mattered to him anymore, whether he would get caught and thrown in prison or executed where he stood. Perhaps he would again end up in some freak show, being ridiculed and humiliated by the crowd as "Devil's Child" like he was when he was little. Or perhaps even more gruesome fate awaited him.

Himself, he preferred death, but on his terms and that certainly did not include the mob that was after him now. He wished for death now that his every reason for living slipped from his grasp. There was nothing left for him anymore, _nothing_.

After a while, the voices of his pursuers grew distant and he was now walking through cold water, down one of many underground tunnels. This coldness brought him slightly to his senses as he now knew that he took the shortest route in order to reach a small cavern where he found his Friesian mare. In fact, he was directly under the large stables of the _Populaire_.

It surprised him to find the horse already saddled and ready to go. But to where? The bulging saddlebags rested at each side of the black horse's flanks and behind the saddle, a black, rectangular case was secured. He was confused for he thought he had left everything of importance behind, he just did not care anymore. But it seemed that there was yet a sole person who still thought of his well-being, even after everything.

Madame Giry must have used the commotion and sneaked through the secret passage leading from the stables to here. He could never be grateful enough for all she had done for him in the past, even if this act right now, preparing his horse and all, was solely for the sake of her and her daughter. Only for the purpose of protecting her child, for the fear of what would people do, lest they realize Madam Giry was his accomplice and his benefactor. And yet, the sympathy and genuine kindness she had shown him throughout the years of their acquaintanceship were very precious to him. Madam Giry was the closest thing he had for a friend.

However, even after such a gesture that was perhaps supposed to urge him to escape and live, he seemed unable to make himself to go on. He will disappear from the city, that much he was certain, for he did not want to put Madame Giry nor her daughter in any kind of inconvenience anymore. But after… There was no 'after'.

* * *

He had walked for hours on end, it seemed to him, when in reality it couldn't have been more than a mere hour, maybe even less. He led his mare by the reins as it wasn't safe riding her through the various passages and caves. The ground was moist and slippery and he was following the stream of the underground currents, which flowed into the subterranean lake where once he dwelt.

Once outside, he found himself at the bank of one of the numerous canals connected to the river Seine. With effort and, as he realized, with some weariness, he mounted his horse. As she snorted, feeling a familiar weight upon her back, white steam escaped her nostrils and dispersed in the air. He patted her graceful neck soothingly.

"It's alright girl."He said softly, though even to him his own voice sounded strangely hoarse, even tired."Go on."

With a gentle flick of the reins, he set off into the dark, cold night. Even if he was now far away from the Opera House, from behind him he could still see billows of smoke rising high and a blazing light of fire, glowing like a beacon against the blackness of the sky.

It drew crowds of people literally like moths are drown to flame and luckily for him, the streets were deserted and thus it was much easier to move unnoticed. Even if his ventures into the Paris were scarce in the recent years, nevertheless he knew each and every corner of it by heart. And so, through shortcuts and alleyways even the most notorious ones would turn from, he was soon far away from the brilliant city where he spent the last ten years of his life.

Snow descended gently from the vast blackness above.

* * *

_Les Bois __des Soupirs._

It was feared more than those alleys he had passed through. A range of yet unexplored forest outside the capital was a place many avoided. It is said that many had died here and many were lost, never to return. These woods were the final resting place for traitors or anyone you would like out of the way. Anyone at all. It is a place where secrets are buried within the ground and it is said that from one such spot, a tree would sprout forth the next morning. It would wither only when the secret it holds is revealed.

Or so he read once, in some gothic fairytale or another, by a writer whose name was inconsequential to be remembered now. Nevertheless, he was sure that in here he would not be sought.

The coldness crept inside his very bones. Everything that had happened that evening started taking its toll on him. The nightingales went quiet, but perhaps he was only hallucinating hearing their song as if welcoming him inside the bosom of the forest. The silence was welcomed. It was almost… lulling. The regular rhythm of his horse's gate rocked his body, which was now bent over to the point of him almost touching the pommel of the saddle with his forehead, but he seemed unaware of that.

He slid down from the saddle, collapsed back-first against the ground. The snow soaked his clothes. Instinctively, he tried to get up, but found out that his drenched legs were as heavy as logs and that he could hardly feel his frozen feet.

His mare nuzzled against him, perhaps trying to tell him to get up.

He barely managed to sit up, leaning against the rough trunk of a tree. Weakly, he pushed his Friesian away.

"No… go away. Leave me!"

The dark eyes of the mare held him in a momentary, long gaze, until her ears flickered and she suddenly cocked her head upwards. It seemed as if she was listening to something before breaking in a canter and disappeared among the trees and into the mist.

White steam came out of his mouth as he panted. He wrapped his arms around himself, as the cold breeze went under his thin shirt, unbuttoned well under his chests.

He was tired, cold and hungry. But that was nothing compared to the torment that raged within him. His heart was shattered into millions of sharp pieces that cut into his very soul. She was gone. He had lost her forever. His Angel of Music was not his anymore, but belonged to another man from this same, accursed evening. His spirit will never be able to soar again. His song died, his hope died. Again, he was so alone.

He looked up, into the stars, but knew that for a monster such as him there was no place there, only in the deepest pits of hell. He closed his eyes, sighing. He had given up completely. He felt so very exhausted that he prayed his end would come soon. There was simply no reason for him to go on. Not without her. The very thought was devastating.

_"_ _My Angel…_

_My sweet Angel…_

_You alone can make my song take flight…  
_

_it's over now, the music of the night…"_

His eyes closed, notes of the song he had written just for her dying on his lips. A silent tear slid down his cheek. The solitude he lived in from the moment he was born suffocated him. And alone, he shall die.

The snow danced through the air, the gentle flakes resting on his face, half angelically beautiful, half demonically monstrous.

_"…Whose is that voice_

_that brakes the gloom of darkness…?"_

Through the haze of his almost unconscious mind, he heard a voice, echoing through the forest. His eyes lingered open for a moment and he saw something moving among the trees towards him, through the white mist.

_"Whose is that voice_

_filled with sadness?"_

He managed to see the outlines of a person approaching him, riding a horse and head covered in a hood. Soon after, when he was no longer able to differentiate between dream and reality, he felt something warm and small pressing against his cheeks.

_"Poor, beautiful creature_

_What are you doing here, all alone…?"_

There it was, that voice again. It was closer this time and it sounded… comforting. Then, he was suddenly overwhelmed by warmth as he was wrapped in a gentle embrace.

_"Everything is fine now,_

_You're safe._

_I'm here, nothing can harm you  
_

_my words will warm and calm you…"_

A sweet, peculiar fragrance filled his mind as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness. And the last thing he saw was an infinite sea of lilac and green – a field of lavender flowers, swaying gently in the breeze.

* * *

Claire rode off into the cold night. Again, she had spent her entire evening sitting by the fire, with a blank sheet of paper in front of her. For months, she wasn't able to write a thing and it was becoming quite annoying. That was the reason why she decided to mount her dappled grey Carthusian and wander through the forest for a bit, just so she could clear her head.

She never understood why so many people were afraid of this beautiful place. These woods represented her abundant source of inspiration. Whenever she would find herself having a writer's block or she simply wanted to be alone and thus needed some time away from the bustle of large cities and uptight norms of the Paris' high class society — she never _really _bothered to follow to the letter — it was here she would find seclusion and her bit of peace.

Oftentimes, she would forget herself, getting lost in all the mysteries this ancient place hid, staying far longer than she intended to at first and each time making her older brother look for her and insist that she comes back home. But staying home was so very boring, therefore, when no one was looking, Claire would secretly set off for Europe's metropolises and cities with lavish history.

But whenever winter arrives, it somehow became a habit of hers to stay in the little house in these woods. Possibly because it looked the most magical then.

* * *

After an hour or so of riding, she decided it was time for both her and her beloved Cesare to return to warm. She felt like having a jasmine-and-mint tea and a warm, long bath. However, it was in that precise moment that she heard a soft sound of hooves galloping through the snow. It was so very quiet in the forest that it was very easy to distinguish it and feel startled at something so unexpected.

Some moments later, Claire was surprised to see a horse fully saddled approaching her but lacking a rider. She hopped down from hers, took the reins of the black horse that came to a halt before her and tried to calm the mare down, humming some soothing melody that came to mind.

"What are you doing here, so far in the woods? Hm?"The young woman asked, caressing the mare's long muzzle."Where is your…"

She paused when she suddenly heard a voice, singing. It broke through the silence, carried by the chilly breeze. It echoed all around her and her heart fluttered, like the hummingbird's wings. It was something the most beautiful and yet he most pitiful she had ever heard in her life. And it was very close, she concluded, so she decided to find it.

Deftly, she was in saddle again and made her Carthusian into canter. The black horse followed closely on its own and under a very pale moonlight, Claire could discern the hoof prints it had left on the snow and thus finding the one whom both the voice and the mare belonged to was easier. As she drew closer to the voice, she was able to make out a figure at the bottom of a tree and when she approached it a little farther, she saw that it was a man.

He held his eyes barely opened, but _they were full of loneliness_, were Claire's first thoughts. When she crouched next to him, she noticed some kind of deformity on the left side of his face but it was impossible to make out anything clearly as of yet. She touched his cheeks, the left one feeling slightly more tender and the skin uneven under her fingertips, as though he had a burn there, was her first impression. Then she held her hand against his forehead. He felt very cold and because she was standing close, Claire could see that he was also very pale, even under the weak moonlight.

Allowing a sigh to escape her, Claire made up her mind right there and then. She could not really leave him there. She could not imagine anyone who would. She brought him closer, to warm him with her body even for a bit before taking off her cloak and wrapping it around his broad shoulders. He was shivering against her and Claire spotted his lips move in one moment, as he perhaps murmured something intangibly, but she could not tell for certain. His consciousness had slipped already.

She had to leave him inclined against the tree again, so she could bring her Dappled-Grey closer. Producing soft clicks in her throat, Cesare understood that he should kneel down so that his mistress could place the unconscious man over its back. After she did so, the horse stood up easily, his owner praising him.

Taking both horses by the reins, Claire made her way to her house.

* * *

For the time being, Claire left the horses inside the small stable as they were, planning to return later on, to unsaddle them and give them some more food and water. Right now, her priority was the dark-haired man she had found in the woods.

She was not sure herself how she did it, for he was heavy and she was afraid she might accidentally drop him, but she managed to bring him inside, holding his one arm around her shoulders. Thankfully, the stables were joined to the little house and so it was only a short trip from there, through the kitchen and into the living room, albeit arduous somewhat.

Onto a couch she let him lie. There was no way she could take him up the stairs and into the guest room where perhaps the bed might have been more comfortable. But it was warmer here, near the fireplace.

Taking off his boots, Claire realized the man's feet were icy cold, his toes almost entirely white, but it did not seem he suffered from serious frostbite. His attire, a thin white shirt and black trousers, was nearly all wet. He looked so very pale, as if all the color was drained away from him.

She nodded to herself. There was no room for timidity now.

Tying her long auburn hair in a ponytail with a black ribbon on the way, Claire hurried up the stairs, to fetch some of her brother's clothing, blankets and a pillow, before she was back running. Carefully, she lifted the man's head and placed the pillow under it. When she let his head rest, the flawed portion of his face was turned away from her, hidden in the soft pillow. For now, she did not pay much attention to how he looked, as she changed him into dry clothes with some effort and with as much care as she could, hanging his own on a drying rack near the fire.

Once she covered the man with a blanket, making sure his feet were tucked in, Claire made to the kitchen twice and back in a rushed pace. From there, she brought a basin, a big ceramic pitcher with cool water and several pieces of cloth and some towels. The second time she came back from there, she carried two wooden boxes in her hands, one longer and the other one more square-like and apparently smaller.

Half of the pitcher's contents she poured inside a black kettle before letting it hang at the fireplace, but only for couple of minutes, to avoid the water being too hot. She still needed to mix it inside the basin with some more water from the pitcher to achieve a pleasant, warm temperature. Claire warmed the man's feet and hands, especially ankles and wrists, by placing the damp cloth over them. She had to improvise like this, for it was impossible to have them immersed in warm water.

She kept soaking the cloths, leaving already used ones in front of the fireplace to dry and was especially being alert of the water's warmth, keeping it as ideal as possible. He was tucked in well and at one point, he stopped shivering. Seeing how his feet and hands restored coloration after a while and that they remained mildly warm, Claire concluded it was sufficient.

She wiped off his hands and feet with a towel and turned around towards the coffee table. Opening the lid of the smaller box of the two she had left on the table, Claire revealed several small bottles inside. Some contained either clear or a yellowish type of liquid inside, while there were a few that were empty. She chose one of the empty vials with flat bottom, no bigger than her thumb, and uncorked it. When she opened the longer box next, she searched through small bottles arranged on soft velvet in two rows, each held separated from the other. They were similar to those in the other box, only these were made from dark amber glass.

Of course, it was easy to find the oils she needed because each small bottle was labeled, the names written in a flowing, fluid handwriting. What she needed primarily was an essential oil for warming and stimulating blood circulation and after Claire had added several drops of it inside the small vial, she chose another two oils which help in relaxing and in relieving muscle stiffness and joint aches. Finally, she added up two and a half teaspoons of carrier oil, closed the vial firmly and shook it until the oils blended nicely.

Using the oil she just made, Claire rubbed the man's feet, massaged his toes and fingers, his wrists and ankles until her hands hurt, to make the circulation run. However, she already dreaded what would happen when the fever kicks in. After all, who knows for how long he had been roaming outside, in such thin and wet clothes. It was fortunate she found him before he froze to death.

Claire perched at the very edge of the couch, next to him. He was lying with his head turned, so that only the right side of his face was exposed. Rather curious by nature, Claire felt intrigued by this man. He appeared to be her older brother's age, perhaps even younger, but she had never seen someone like him before. And that did not solely mean the condition of his face.

It was not as bad as she thought it would be, the defect on the other half of his face, only slightly startling. She thought she would certainly recoil at the sight of it, once she sees it under light, but that was not the case. After all, she had seen her fare share of misery during her numerous travels, and although she would never be grossed out when she would come across people of similar and often worse cases, she would naturally be at least a bit upset.

As she was pondering this, she turned his head gently so she could have a proper look at him. Claire was right earlier when she thought the markings on his face resembled burns, but then not quite. The skin was wrinkled and warped and the misshapen blemish spread over the large area over the left side of his face, expanding over his cheek, half of his forehead and even on a section of his head. Only the lower portion around his chin, on the left side was as normal as the opposing one, smooth and clean-shaven, and his lips were left greatly untouched.

One could say that he was missing a left eyebrow, as he was missing sideburns on that side of his face. It was barely noticeable and only one part of it, being so very fair in contrast to his natural, dark right one. The burn-like deformity was more prominent on a few places than the rest of the scarring and created an unsettling impression of his skin having started to melt, but then stopped halfway and desiccated. It was under his eye, looking as if something was pulling at the lower eyelid and next to his nostril, while there was a long swelling that went along his cheekbone and upwards.

Claire followed this protuberance with inquisitive eyes, tipping his head gently aside and found out that it finished along his temple. It appeared as though something was lodged underneath his skin. She also discovered that his ear was mutilated to some extent because of this deformity and she spotted a single, rounded bump directly above it. There were a few more, similar lumps around this bulge, only smaller, and the skin on the bald, left front section of his head had various wrinkles and small perforations on it, exactly how the rest of his flawed face was.

When she touched the exposed side of his head with hesitant fingers, moving away several dark strands that fell over it from the other side, it indeed felt rough and uneven. But, the skin was unexpectedly tender and soft, and in contrast to the rest of his fair complexion, only this distorted segment of the man's face and head was of pale reddish color. Also, the disfigurement made the left side of his face seem a bit swollen.

Claire found herself studying the man's features far longer than it would be considered appropriate. In truth, when she was now looking at his face as a whole, she realized he was actually relatively handsome. Still, he also had a look of a man who attracted trouble and this notion remained exasperatingly constant. Was it precisely that, that made her curious of him?

Her lips tugging at the corners, curving in a smirk, Claire left her unforeseen guest's side and went to the stables, to tend to the horses. She took a note of the saddlebags and a case that were attached to the black Friesian mare, but decided not to pry too much and simply put them away in the little hallway of her house, after she got back in the house. She was thinking that if he decided to leave once he gets better, he might want to have his things close by.

The man on the couch was breathing heavily, deep asleep. The color returned to him, but Claire noticed a few droplets of perspiration at his temples. She pressed her hand against his neck and realized he was slowly beginning to burn up. Taking a brief glance at the clock on the fireplace, she learnt that the dawn was less than five hours away. Sighing, she placed a wet, cool cloth upon the man's forehead and wiped his neck with another.

For the rest of the evening, she repeated this process several times and tried to remain awake. His condition wasn't changing much, neither for better or worse and the slightly higher temperature appeared to remain constant. From time to time, he would mumble something or just move his mouth and say nothing. Claire tried to make him as much comfortable as she was able, making sure not to worsen his fever by covering him too much.

She wondered if it would be actually better to move him upstairs in the morning. Now that he wasn't cold anymore, staying near a fireplace wasn't such a good idea. Contemplating this, her gaze rested upon the dark-haired man the whole time, consequently lingering on the blemished side of his face and after a while, she began to doze off, curled in an armchair.

Claire's eyes snapped open as she was startled by a noise coming from outside of her door. Someone was knocking.

Pale light of early morning was spilling inside the small, cozy living room through the windows. This made the young woman momentarily confused. What the devil, it was deep in the night just a minute before! She possibly fell soundly asleep for around an hour and a half, but the sudden change in light arrangement was annoying. Rubbing her aching neck and stretching her legs, she glanced towards the couch, the man in it still sleeping.

There came the rapping again, rushed and impetuous. Furrowing her brows, Claire stood up.

* * *

_Les Bois des Soupirs - The Forest of Whispers (liberal translation) _


	2. The Longest Day in Her Life

**Thanks for the reviews, a scarce as they are. ^_^ This chapter is slightly longer, just a bit, and I could have made it even _longer_, but somehow it ended naturally, so I left that other part for the third one. Reviews are much appreciated, as well as criticism and any corrections. Oh, and if something in the story might seem as unnecessary (like mentioning her family or even the "tedious" part about the _hands - _you'll know it when you get there), believe me most of them are there _intentionally, _because the purpose of this chapter is for you to come back to it, at some point in time, when I make one of those things important in some of my future chapters and make connections in between them.**

* * *

Taking a gander through the window near the front door, Claire let out a sigh a relief. This, by itself, confused her. Why was she tense in the first place? A thought occurred to her how only a rare few go this deep into the forest, and except those who knew she resided here, others who decide to enter it are either too bold or desperate. It was especially avoided during winter. Unless one knows exactly where to find shelter, they would otherwise wander lost through a virtual maze of trees and rocks and freeze to death, their corpse left to the wolves.

Claire found herself wondering what that man was doing in the woods. Was he running away from someone or fleeing from somewhere? Was he left with no other choice but to hide in these woods? Or was he really perhaps simply lost? However, the lack of any warm clothing on him, even if his saddlebags were packed full, were proof enough he wasn't going on any planned trip.

Nevertheless, until he wakes up and decides to answer her questions, Claire could not know.

Opening the door, before her stood a lanky boy, carrying two large and bulging paper bags, filled with various groceries. He was in his late teens, but had nicely formed features of his face. In a few years, you may even call him handsome. His dirty blond hair was kept short but it was still not enough to tame multitude of small curls enveloping his head. His ears and the tip of his nose were reddish from being out in the cold, and yet he greeted Claire with a toothy grin, his bright blue eyes mirroring the cheerfulness.

But the voice of a smaller boy grabbed her attention and she glanced down.

"What took you so long? We're freezing!"

Yann was Claude's nine-year-old brother. They shared the same eye color and a lot of people claimed that Yannik, as he was nicknamed by many, was a spitting image of his older sibling when he was his age. What Claire found the most adorable with him, much to the chagrin of the little boy, were his chubby cheeks, even though he looked as if he could use a pound or a couple more. His hair was dark and messy, poking at odd angles, and it was of a kind that made people want to ruffle it even further. Claire was the worst of them all and she couldn't help it.

However, she had to restrain her hands. After all, the boys should be in warm first. She was thinking of making some simple, sweet pastries and serving them with hot _sherbet _tea with lemon and honey. Ever since she visited Turkey some years ago, she was absolutely smitten with the beverage and tried to share it with as many people as possible and she was met with positive success.

Claire already had a perfect plan in her head. Feed the little kitty named Yannik, wait until he's not suspecting anything and is cozy enough by the fire — because he'd scratch and bite otherwise — and _then _mess up those locks to her heart's content.

"Sorry. Get in."Claire moved away to let the two boys through, chuckling to her thoughts."Have you travelled safely?"

"'Course we did!"The little boy said, hurrying past Claire."But because you had me freezing for so long, you'll make me hot chocolate in the biggest possible mug you have! And I want biscuits! _Lots _of 'em."After glaring at the auburn-haired young woman warningly, Yann dashed towards the arched entrance leading to the sitting room.

Holding one of the two bags she had taken from Claude, when she noticed where Yann was going, only then did Claire realize she did not have a chance to tell the boys about her guest beforehand.

"No, wait!"

The little boy rushed inside the living room and just as he was about to hurry and warm himself by the fire, he paused in his tracks, spotting an unfamiliar man sleeping on a couch. Inquisitive like all kids his age, Yannik approached the couch, holding his head tilted. When he spotted the deformity on the man's face, the boy was taken aback, surprised, but did not look away. As a matter of fact, he went even closer to the sleeping man, observing him curiously.

By that time, both Claire and Claude went inside the sitting room as well.

"Who's he?"The dark-haired boy asked, once he saw Claire and his older brother.

"Is he a friend of yours?"Claude asked as well, his voice soft as though he was unused to it, for he did prefer to remain quiet most of the time.

"Not exactly."Claire said, before making to the kitchen. Claude followed her and they both put down the paper bags on the round, dining table.

"_Maman_ also sent you the oils you've asked."Claude said, pulling out a package from one of the bags, little bigger than his palm, wrapped in plain brown paper and he placed it gingerly on the table.

Claire nodded quietly, appearing uneasy and the reason for that was that she did not know whether to tell the truth to the boys or not, even though there was not really much to tell. The younger boy still remained by the side of the strange man, watching him as if he had never seen someone like him before. He let out a soft gasp when the man's eyes moved, opening to but slits, glistening under the dark eyelashes, before a moment or two later they closed again. The boy raised a hand, wanted to touch the uneven skin on the man's left cheek.

"Yannik."He heard his older brother's voice and stopped immediately in his intentions. The dark-haired boy scampered to the kitchen, scowling a bit.

"Well, who's he then, if not your friend?"He inquired.

"I found him last night."Claire answered, but rather to Claude who was more likely to understand the situation better."He was cold and I couldn't leave him. And I think he's running a fever."

"Well, if that's the case it's no good keeping him near fireplace."Claude suggested in his low, quiet voice.

"I guessed as much."Claire sighed."Can you help me taking him upstairs? If you guys didn't show up, I have no idea how I'd manage by myself."

Claude only nodded and already he made his way across the room. Claire stroked Yann through his hair.

"We'll be right back then you'll have as much hot chocolate and pastries as you want."

"Hmm, I wanted biscuits, but guess that's ok."Yannik pouted, enduring the tangling of his hair

Claire made a strange face then, smiling, as though she was practically melting from head to toe from the sheer cuteness of the little boy. She pecked the boy on the head, before hurrying to Claude. Together, they lifted the man from the couch and carried him towards the stairs. His feet were practically dragging along the ground and truly, if it weren't for Claude, Claire would have never been able to take him up the stairs. The young man did not ask a thing and he didn't seem to be repelled by the sight of the man's face. Actually, he acted as if there wasn't anything wrong with it at all or so it appeared.

They carried the unconscious man into the guest room, sometimes used by Claire's brother, but rarely. After laying him down onto the bed, it was Claude that went over to the small stove, to set the fire. Covering the dark-haired man, Claire smiled her curly-haired friend.

"Thank you."She told him.

Claude glanced at her behind his shoulder, just about to add some wood inside the stove, and nodded to her, returning a smile.

When the fire was lit, so that the room was comfortably warm, Claire again placed a cool cloth over the dark-haired man's forehead. She left the door of the room slightly ajar when she and Claude went out. She felt responsible, but since the man's fever was constant for a time, neither going up nor down, she thought there wouldn't be any harm in spending an hour or so downstairs with the two brothers.

* * *

The dough Claire left last night before riding out had risen nicely. As the pastries filled with apricot and strawberry marmalade baked in the oven, Claire fixed tea for herself and Claude, and made the promised hot chocolate for Yann.

She had known the boys and their parents for years, troubling them for bringing her groceries from time to time and every so often, they would tell her what was new in Paris. Their father was a veterinarian, while their mother ran a small but successful shop where she sold various toiletries she would make herself.

Claire loved having the boys here. They would visit her just when Claire had nothing to do with her spare time and was feeling bored to death. Occasionally, she'd let them read something she had written, especially the fairy tales she was writing in recent years to Yann. After all, being a child himself, Yannik proved to be her best critic as he would openly tell her if he thought of something as rubbish and that not even a four-year-old brat would find it interesting.

Claude offered to help Claire with the horses while she prepared some breakfast and went upstairs again to check on the sick man and exchange one wet cloth for a cooler one. By touch, it seemed as though his temperature increased somewhat. When she came back downstairs, Claire spotted Yann going through her few latest stories she hoped to publish, immersing himself in a mountain of sweet pastries, while his older brother had already returned from the stables and was now sipping tea in the kitchen. Claire joined him.

Claude told her, then, about an unfortunate event taking place last night. He did not know much about it himself, only what he had heard or read in the newspapers, about some lunatic burning the Opera _Populaire_ virtually to the ground and trying to abduct the Opera's latest star singer.

Claire did not think much about the affair. After all, it was her opinion that Paris held an erroneous belief of being "the city of light" for it was not as pure as it pretended to be. It was not different from any other place in the world with its own amount of wickedness and dishonesty. She was more concerned about the brewing trouble with the Kingdom of Prussia and that her brothers might be mobilized.

Of course, there were not many details about it released in public and neither did her older brother send her a letter in which he would usually discuss such things with her openly and without hiding anything from her. No matter how ugly or utterly painful the truth might be, both Claire and her older brother Philippe agreed never to have secrets from each other, ever since they were children. This trust intensified further more when they first lost their mother and then their father and they were left to take care of their two younger siblings by themselves.

Claude and Yannik left when the morning was gradually turning to early noon. It was a bright day, although chilly and the forest was covered with early January snow. Claire wished they had stayed more, but a lot of work waited the boys once they get back home, and Claire herself also had someone to take care of, so there was no time for playing.

Still, just before they left, Claire simply had to pinch Yannik's cute, chubby cheeks and mess up with his hair before she let the little kitten go. She remained at the porch and watched their small cart disappearing amongst the trees, down the path little people knew of, but which was in fact one of the safest few leading back to the city, without any danger to get lost.

Once she went back inside the house, Claire suddenly became aware of the silence in it. Not that she ever got lonely, only bored on her own, but now that the boys were gone, she realized there was a bit of dread in her. After all, there was a stranger in her house. An ill man, but still a stranger. After finding him in the woods, her conscience would not let her turn a blind eye to him, but now that she had a responsibility over him, until he recovers, she had to admit she was somewhat worried.

What if something goes wrong and his fever gets worse? What if she were unable to put it down? Of course, if something like that happens, she could somehow bring him to the doctor in her own cart, no matter how difficult a task that might prove to be, or she could simply ride off to the city and bring the doctor here. Thankfully, the city wasn't so far away and her horse was rather fast, but what if she's late? What if she doesn't get to the doctor in time?

_Alright, enough is enough! _She told herself and slapped her cheeks a few times, enough to bring her to her senses. There's no point of making a drama out of everything, is there? She'll simply try to bring down the fever the best she is able, Claire made up her mind, nodding to herself. After all, she had some experience with these things, considering her younger brother used to be such a sickly child until a few years back. Well, now that she thought about it, he wasn't a child anymore, was he?

* * *

Before heading upstairs, Claire remembered it was smart to move the man's clothes away from the fireplace. Surely they dried by now.

As she was folding the man's clothes neatly, something small fell out of the pocket on the trousers. It rolled over the carpet and Claire could only notice it was sparkling under the light, before it disappeared under the armchair. Gathering her long skirt in between her knees, she crouched and since the armchair was heavy for her to move it aside, she managed to feel the small object under it after a bit.

Under her fingertips, she already guessed what it was. Claire held out a golden ring, with a single, big diamond surrounded with about a dozen of smaller ones that made a flower shape. Immediately, it struck her as a bit familiar. It looked like her mother's ring she received from father when they were young, but again it was so very long time ago she'd seen it last, she couldn't be sure. She supposed it was in Philippe's possession, but she never really bothered to ask and she also knew her older brother had no use of it.

The ring of the dark-haired man was a simple piece of jewelry, a bit too old-fashioned for Claire's tastes, but it was evident that this ring could only be an engagement ring. Claire wondered briefly who the girl it was intended to is. Perhaps she was a girl of high stature and he was chased into the woods by the girl's over-protective father? Or perhaps, she had to marry someone else and was compelled to return the ring? Or perhaps, _he _was actually a wealthy noble and was on his way to meet his sweetheart, a poor but lovely girl his family never approved of and threatened to disinherit him?

_So however you put it, secret lovers? _Claire thought amusingly, her imagination stretching in all possible directions, reaching all the probable ideas. Now she knew, more or less, why she found the man with half deformed face interesting, even though he hasn't spoken a word yet. It was instinctive, actually, for she knows a good story material when she sees one.

Shaking her head with a smile, Claire decided to put the ring back where it was and later on, when she brought the folded clothes inside the room her sick guest was, she made sure that the pocket on the trousers the ring was in faced upwards, so that the trinket might not fall out again.

* * *

When she thought about it, this was indeed one of the _longest_ days in all of her life. Hours passed like minutes and Claire thought it was never going to end, this waiting and worrying about someone whose name she didn't even know.

Claire managed to keep the temperature of the small room as comfortable as she could. The wet cloth on the dark-haired man's forehead would warm up quickly, lasting barely an hour now, so they needed to be changed regularly. To soothe him furthermore, Claire mixed a few drops of one particular essential oil into lukewarm water and damped a clean towel with it, dabbing his chests, his forehead and his neck with it, at the same time wiping off some sweat.

Claire could not say for certain if the man's condition was improving. His temperature was varying for most of the day and he slept peacefully for a while. Claire used that opportunity to go back downstairs once more to bring a book she was reading to pass the time, sheets of paper she was writing on, her dip pen and a small bottle of ink as well, though she doubted she could concentrate on forming even a single sentence.

What she also remembered to bring was a glass and a jug of water, hoping the man she was nursing would become aware at some point so she could give him at least half a glass to drink, because he needed to bring as much fluid into him as he could. And while she was there, Claire blended some essential oils that would help bring down his fever.

However, she could not do it right away, for she did not know if his temperature might accidentally drop, considering it was unstable for a time. All she could do, besides making regular changes of the wet cloth, was to sit and be watchful. It was then she found herself constantly gazing at his face, more so than trying to write or read.

Claire pondered over the thought that she did not want him to feel uncomfortable when he wakes up and realizes he was in a house of a stranger — for she was that to him as much as he was to her — that saw his disfigurement, even though she could not know whether he hides it before the world or not. Claire did not want her eyes to wander solely over the left side of his face. When she would to look at it, she wanted to see it as a whole. She already concluded his deformity did not repel her, now all she needed to master was to treat it casually.

As she was wondering if there would be any changes in the man's condition, Claire noticed that he was beaded with perspiration more than before. His breathing also became difficult and it occurred to Claire that he might have troubling dreams. His mumblings grew more frequent, but they were merely parts of some words or more often a groan, as though he did not know how else to relieve himself from this anguish the fever had brought.

Claire did not allow herself to be caught up in panic when this happened, but at least now, she was certain his fever would remain constant, which meant she could use that other mixture of essential oils to make it drop.

But first, she needed to change his shirt and wipe his sweat off again.

Claire took off the man's shirt carefully, noticing it was soaked in sweat at the back. In soothing, almost rhythmical motions, the auburn-haired young woman passed along the man's arms all the while humming, half-aware of that action. In fact, it was almost something inherent about her. Although she could not sing properly, she would always hum the songs both her mother and grandmother sang to her when she was a little girl and it just so happened that Claire had done this every time she was taking care of her younger siblings, whenever they were sick or should be put to sleep.

When she gently turned the feverish man so he could lie on his side, Claire could not help but feel a bit of pity when she looked upon his trembling shoulders and the way his hands came together. She brushed the towel over his back, broad and strong, contemplating how they appeared in the eyes of his lover. Were they always there to protect her? Were they unyielding, confident? Were they always this pitiful and have they always drawn you, making you want to support them?

Claire smiled ruefully to herself, shook her head. She thought of these ideas as silly, because she didn't really know him, and perhaps she never would, so as far as she could tell, he might just prove to be the opposite of pitiful. He might even get offended if anyone thought of him as such. Perhaps he's really brave and really admirable, that not even one measly fever could make him be otherwise. And this sounded to Claire just like all those nameless knights she read about in the books and was always teased for by Philippe.

"…stine…"

An unexpected whisper startled Claire. She glanced at the dark-haired man over his shoulder, as he was still lying with his back turned to her. His lips moved again.

"…..ris….."

A sympathetic smile appeared over Claire's freckled face and she passed her fingertips in a caress over the balding, rough side of his head, where the deformity spread, before stroking her fingers through the tresses of his hair. Was he seeing his sweetheart in his dream, Claire wondered.

"Shh. It's fine. Everything's fine. You'll get better soon."

Claire continued to hum a tranquil melody as she finally applied some oil at the back of the man's neck and at his temples, and after that put a clean shirt on him. Turning him to lie on his back again, she went on to button the shirt, and as she was doing this, her gaze wandered upwards, towards his face. Claire flinched in surprise when she found him staring at her. But his eyes were blurry, out of focus, and he did not give off a feeling he was really looking at her.

Claire regained her composure and positioned herself so that she was sitting at the head of the bed, facing the same direction as the dark-haired man. Holding him around the shoulders, she lifted him up slowly and let him half-lean against her, half against the pillows. She took the glass of water from the bedside table.

"Here, it's water."

She tipped the glass carefully as he drank the water in weak, but large gulps. When he drank it all up, a sigh escaped him.

"…more."He murmured so softly Claire could not even decide on the color of his voice.

She poured the water from the jug with one hand while still holding onto the man's shoulder with the other. After he guzzled down the second glass of water, it seemed to have taken some toll on him as he was now left panting for air. Claire let him rest again, and raised the pillows under him a bit, to make him comfortable. He still held his eyes opened, but barely. He kept on shivering, if in a tad lesser measure, and Claire knew it would take a while for the oil to take effect, since it should be applied on regular intervals.

Timidly, Claire brushed some hair from his forehead, before pressing her hand against his left cheek.

"It's alright. Sleep now."Claire uttered softly and soon, the man closed his eyes, drifting off into sleep again.

She exhaled tiredly moving her bangs out of her eyes. When she got up, she used the mirror in the room to gather the straight fringes into a fish braid going along the line of her forehead and keep them from falling into her eyes. That was when she also noticed that her hair was loose and supposed the ribbon must have fallen off at some point. Claire shrugged at this, really not caring one way or another since her hair never bothered her, despite the fact it was fairly long.

She made back to the bed, recalling that Emma, Claude and Yannik's _maman,_ told her about a couple of places more that were good to massage with the essential oil in case of fever. Claire did it on the soles of his feet followed by the back of his hands noting that they were not what she would call attractive. Hands were always something Claire would first notice in a man and she liked when a man has long, lean fingers, when the hands were of just the right size, neither small nor too big and especially when they were smooth at the back, with no small veins or tendons visible underneath the skin.

The hands of Claire's guest were quite the opposite of what she preferred — big, with stubby fingers and veins subtly jutting underneath the skin at the back of the hand — and she would never say that a man as handsome as he was, despite the disfigurement on his face, would have hands she would find unappealing. Nevertheless, she had to admit they were very soft and their skin felt tender. Though manly, his hands seemed almost delicate as if they were never used for manual labor but rather for… creating beautiful things.

When she came to this conclusion, as she observer the man's palm and fingertips, Claire felt puzzled. However, beside this bewilderment, she came to a realization she was having a brainwave after brainwave ever since she found this man in the woods and that she could use some of those ideas in the future.

The rest of the day she spent in scribbling random thoughts, almost poetically formed and she was quite eager to use them someday. Claire would mind the time, all the same, and applied the essential oil on the ill man almost strictly every half an hour. He gave the impression of being half-awake only a few times more and that was when Claire would give him some water to drink. Thankfully, the oil massage worked as his fever was steadily going down.

Later in the evening, when Claire was applying the last drops of the oil on the man's hand, he clutched hers suddenly, so tightly she thought his fingers would bruise her skin. He was looking at her and for the first time, she could tell that his eyes were very light green, nearly grey.

Still, it did not seem he was fully awake yet.

"Christine…"He whispered the name, and his hand grasped Claire's small one desperately."…why? …..Christine…"He called out the name of his beloved once more and when it left his lips, so did the strength in his grip.

Carefully, Claire freed her hand from the man's, only so she could cup it in both of hers. She opened her mouth, hesitated. Was it alright… to do this? But it was perhaps the only thing that could bring him some peace.

"I'm here."She reassured him."I'm here."

* * *

It was already deep in the night. Claire sat on the rocking chair, her cheek leaned against her fist and her round eyes holding the bedridden man in an observant gaze. There were reddish marks around her hand, reaching a bit to the wrist as well, where the dark-haired man grasped her in his delirious state, but Claire never gave them much thought, since they didn't hurt and she knew they would disappear quickly.

The phial of the essential oil was empty and it was safe to assume the man's shivering and sweating all together stopped. He seemed calmer now as he slept deeply.

Claire closed her eyes, letting a sigh of relief. _Thank goodness. _She thought. _Now I can finally take that long bath! Well, longish. _After all, Claire decided not to relax until the morning, when she would be absolutely certain her guest was indeed well and that the worst was over.

Leaving the door of her room half-opened for the steam to disperse, Claire was soaking herself in a bathtub full of hot water and hummed some slow, invented melody of her own, whose words as it was always the case she did not know. A fresh, herbal scent of lavender mixed with a sweet note of jasmine flowers pervaded the house...


	3. Delirious Dreams

**New update at last! :D Sorry it took that long, but I really felt I needed to go a bit slower for this chapter, so I couldn't post it earlier, not until I was _at least_ 95% satisfied by how it turned out. And I still think it's not perfect yet.**

**Now, before diving into our favorite's Phantom dreams, just a few notes on the side:**

**.:NOTE One:. I'm a lavender freak, so shoot me. **

**.:NOTE Two:. The melody of Christine's song, as you might notice, was entirely based on Disney _Cinderella_'s "Sing Sweet Nightingale". I BLAME MY KID SISTER FOR THAT! Few days before her 18th birthday, she decided to watch all Disney Classics and the song stuck to my head like glue and I couldn't get it out for days for the life of me. But the text is entirely mine and I guess you can find the song on YouTube just so you can have a general idea of its melody. **

**.:NOTE Two and a Half:. Though the story is based on musical, I don't think I'll have more than five songs in the entire story, if that! So, don't worry, you won't be chocked to death by them. Probably by tons of other stuff, but not by them. :]**

**.:NOTE Three:. Speaking of songs, while writing those darker parts of Erik's dream, I listened to "A Far Cry" from The Vision of Escaflowne OST and "The Doctor's Theme" from Doctor Who OST, a song that ran from season 1 through 3. I listened to this song especially towards the end of the chapter. These might help with the atmosphere.  
**

**.:NOTE Four:. I realized I'll most probably use the book "Phantom" by Susan Key as sort of mini-guideline. The most obvious influence by it was the Mirror Monster and the Angry Woman. For those who haven't read it yet, I guess even the Wikipedia is enough to figure out what and who those two are, but if you're patient with me, all will be revealed in time. ;]**

**And before we continue, thanks for the reviews on previous chapter and for following the story. :)**

* * *

The last thing he saw was an infinite sea of lavender flowers… and he was now standing in the middle of that sea. Narrow strips of grassy paths ran in between dense rows of lavender shrubs that stretched as far as the eye could see. The gentle breeze fondled with its invisible fingers the long stems wreathed in whorls of small, pale violet flowers and they swayed gracefully, in undulating waves.

He had a feeling he could touch the sky if he were to reach for it, that's how extremely open it was above him, limitless and infinite. And that immense blue faded closer it was to the horizon, finally disappearing within a stretch of clouds, pale pinkish and lilac, as though reflecting the color of the flowers beneath them.

And right in between this seemingly endless field of lavender flowers and the fading blue of the sky spread a ring of a lavish green expanse, the forest serving as a boundary amid the two. There, he saw a shroud of fine mist, hovering above the treetops and the fiery orb of the sun diving into it in a steady pace.

As the day was gradually yielding to evening, the air felt soothingly cool and fresh. A peculiar fragrance wafted through it like a veil of finest silk. Commonly strong, spicy scent of the lavender flowers was dulled with another, sweet and mellow, almost like a vanilla, though more subtle, unobtrusive. It was coming from a single tree swathed in white, at the foot of the gently sloping hill, dominating the vast sea of grayish-green and lavender colors.

He allowed his eyes to close, but almost immediately regretted it. His legs wobbled once he was washed over with the intoxicating fragrance of the flowers surrounding him. And that sweet scent coming from the tree… it was familiar, though he could not decide on what it was.

_Was this how death looks like? _He wondered and instantly refused the thought. He felt out of place here. This immeasurable beauty, nearly painful and deceiving, was not meant for ones such as he. This peace and tranquility permeating his very core and making him wish to remain here forever was something he was not worthy of.

He extended his hand sideways, let it linger above the violet, spear-like plants. The tips grazed against his palm, caressing it. A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. This heavenly place awoke great regret in him. Regret for not having done things differently, for not striving to become someone uninfluenced by his turbulent, dark past. Regret for not having enough strength to overcome those things, never letting them dictate his mindset, his attitude, a future he could never truly achieve.

And just as his chest tightened over these bleak thoughts, he heard someone sing.

_"…when sun goes down._

_Open your wings and sing._

_Sing, sweet nightingale_

_Sing sweet… nightingale…"_

His heart lurched. _This voice, could it be?_ Although he could not distinguish the words clearly enough, he knew this voice too well. His heart knew it, it yearned for it.

He rushed to stop at the very edge of the sloping hill and under the white crown of the tree within the sea of lilac, he saw a female figure, of long dark hair, dressed in white and green. His feet never felt so light as he hurried down the slope, almost as though he gained wings.

Reaching near enough the tree, he realized it was in fact adorned in multitude of small, white flowers and their velvety, sweet fragrance was even stronger and frighteningly mesmeric as he approached. These were jasmine flowers. However, he found himself not caring one bit what they were nor for the fact that the mixture of scents filling the fresh air was comforting. No, why would he care for such trivial things when the sun of his life was smiling to him.

"Christine…"He murmured her name, unable yet to believe his eyes.

There was no repulsiveness or resentment in her dark-brown, doe-like eyes. Only joy, only fondness.

"I have been waiting for you."The girl with chocolate curls told him, reaching out to take his big hand in hers."Come. Come over here, Erik."

He could only stare at her, stunned and speechless as he was and let her pull him closer. She led him to the tree, where she let her green cloak fall down her shoulders and she carefully laid it on the ground. She went to sit down and motioned him to do the same. Her eyes captivated him, her sweet smile made him want to surrender completely to her every will.

Only when her hand was close to the hated left side of his face, did he cringe, freed from the entrancement she placed him under.

"No!"He turned his head away, hiding the disfigurement. He absolutely did not want her graceful hands, her precious fingers, to be soiled by the gruesomeness deforming his features."No…"He said in a quiet tone of voice, pleading.

When he gathered enough courage to look at her again, some moments later, her dark eyes were filled with sympathy, as though she gazed upon some wounded animal. Christine took his hand and raised it in the level of his face.

"But it's alright."She told him. Smiled."Feel."

He let her draw his hand closer, his fingertips to touch his cheek. And upon the new realization, his bright, green eyes widened in astonishment. He touched his face over and over, first the left side and then the right one as well. And both felt equally smooth beneath his fingertips. His fingers then ran through the thick strands of his dark hair, where the balding, rough spot used to be. He felt nothing there but even skin and soft locks he knew were never able to grow.

Christine was holding a round mirror in her hands, of ornate silver frame.

"Look."She urged him.

When he drew himself near, diffidently, what first came into view in the mirror was a face of a little boy, of tussled dark hair, chubby cheeks and eyes as clear and blue as the sky in springtime. He flinched in surprise, but a moment later, the face of the boy was gone, being replaced by his own amazed reflection staring at him. He touched the cold surface of the mirror glass, grazed his fingertips against his own face in it.

It was gone! The deformity of his face was gone, disappeared! Like it never existed in the first place. He looked like he always dreamed of – normal. Simply… normal. His eyes blurred with tears, the transparent droplets dripping against the surface of the mirror. He could not control his sobs nor stop the tears from flowing. He felt as though he was breaking from the inside. A heavy sensation of sorrow and grief was overwhelming him, exceeded only by such incredible and utter loneliness.

"Poor Erik."Christine whispered."Poor, poor Erik."

* * *

He sank, deeper and deeper, into the infinite black void of his despair.

His knees were as if welded onto the cold floor as he knelt, bent over. Sporadic sobs still shook his body. He wished he could cut it out of him, his guilt and his sins. They smothered him, suffocated him. But the fact he was so utterly alone was immeasurably a lot worse.

The utter blackness surrounded him, closing in. The silence reigned. His music was gone after all, his heart could sing no more. It could only bleed.

Then, a sharp sound resonated loudly. A hard object bashing against metal. It startled him, he never expected to hear anything in this deep silence. But an ugly, swarthy face, twisted in wicked grin, mouth filled with several golden teeth, startled him even more. The man, the Gipsy that held him captive when he was a boy, cackled and struck against the bars of the cage with a hard handle of the whip. He knew it well, his body remembered it well, after being beaten with it almost every day.

Instinctively, he retreated back, a shudder of mixed alarm and agitation passing through him.

"Where d' yah think yer goin' boy? Eh?"The gipsy asked in a gruff voice."Don't think you can escape yer sins, _devil's child_. Hehhe heh…"

"No! No, stay away from me!"He shouted, feeling a wave of terror taking over him, and suddenly he felt as though he was a little boy again."Leave me alone!"He held his arms protectively over his head, expecting to be hit every moment now. He was crouching, his knees tightly pulled back against his stomach. Such a big, strong man was a sight of complete misery now.

But, instead of proceeding to punish him like always out of simple boredom or for displeasing him in some trivial matters, the Gipsy laughed loudly, a thundering awful noise it was. He wondered how his former captor could even produce any voice at all while a deep, long slit ran across his thick throat, dark blood gurgling and gushing out like a little brook, drenching the Gipsy's clothes. But the Gipsy wasn't alone. Through the dim shadows, others emerged, more creatures than people. Ghouls. The ghosts whose ghastly faces hounded him for years. The bellows of laughter broke all around him.

He saw… he recognized people he had met before, people whose life he ended with his own two hands. There were those that died because they mocked him, because they thought him pitiful and ugly and laughed at his suffering. There were those that truly wished him harm, mostly because he simply knew too much, because they considered him dangerous. Then he had no choice _but _to kill in order to stay alive.

To survive he had killed, but also… out of spite. Out of mere spite, because they dared think of him anything less than what he was, a genius. They dared hurt his pride, ridicule his authority, belittle his intellect. Their deaths might not have been entirely deserved, but they served as an example for others. Now no one would try and risk angering him, lest they wanted to share the same grisly fate as the fools before them. Those pathetic commoners that were but gnats compared to his mind prowess and abilities.

Then why was he in this cage? Why was he captured and imprisoned so, like a helpless animal? Why did something that felt justified before, felt so very wrong now? And why did it hurt so much? He wanted out, he wanted to run away. Arms stretched out through the bars, hands tried to capture him. He darted from one end of the cage to the other, trying to keep himself out of reach but they would always pull at his clothes, tug at his hair.

Their laughter was deafening, made his skull hurt to the point he had an uncomfortable feeling it was splitting in half. He held his head firmly pressed between his hands, trying in vain not to hear their accusing words that stabbed through him like spears and swords.

_You killed us! Killed us! _

_Murderer!_

_Monster! Monster!_

_Freak. _

_Demon!_

_Murderer!_

"No!"He screamed."No… please…"He begged in a crying voice."Please, stop. No more!"

_"Stop? And when will __**you **__stop?" _A voice made him lift up his head. Other figures around the cage he was in were obscured, all but one. A woman, dressed in plain grey dress, her face concealed behind a black veil. Though her face was hidden, that voice, that cold, merciless voice deprived of any and all emotion of kindness and gentleness, sent a wave of nausea through him.

_"When will __**you **__STOP, you creature, you… you monstrous __**thing**__?!"_The woman with the veil shrieked._" You evil, __**evil **__fiend! You wicked child! You shouldn't have been born! You should have__** never**__ been __**born**__!" _

Her final shout shattered like glass through his ears, made everything else vanish together with her, leaving him curled up on the floor, his body shivering. Tears streamed down his perfect cheeks, his sobs resounding in the emptiness.

"…Christine… Save me… Christine."Her name was like a prayer on his lips. A prayer for salvation of this agony, this desolation.

He felt that he was losing the sight of himself. That he was becoming empty, nothing. Like he was fading away.

Not even the growling that came deep from within the darkness made him stir. A pair of green-grey eyes gleamed against the black gloom. A creature was circling him, black paws patting softly against the ground. It sniffed the air, deep rumble coming from its throat. He felt chill crawling against his skin, like tiny insects. From the corner of his eye, he spotted something odd about this mysterious creature. Something out of place, something he did not wish to see.

Something he was afraid to look at.

A moment later, the creature turned about and retreated back into the shadows, while something else entirely appeared. A pair of female arms stretched out to him, but these meant him no harm.

"Christine…"He whispered.

"Shh. It's fine. Everything's fine. You'll get better soon."A voice told him. Low, caring. It carried the scent of fresh lavender and enthralling sweetness of jasmine flowers.

He felt weightless and comfortable, as he rested inside an embrace that filled him with warmth. The shade lifted from his eyes, but he could not see clearly. It was as if he was inside a half dream, neither fully awake nor fully asleep.

There was a soft, crackling sound coming from his left, accompanied by an orange glow. But, he did not want to turn his head to see what it was, he did not want to move. He wanted to keep this snug feeling forever or at least just for a while longer.

Just then, the voice whispered something to him and it was so close he could feel a warm breath caressing his skin. He understood only one word: water. The cool liquid was already inside his mouth and he found himself unable to contain his thirst. He swallowed the water as if it was his last, as if he had never drank anything tastier.

_"Please, can I have some more?"_He asked… or thought he did. He wasn't sure, still he was given more water to drink nevertheless. He was too fast to drink this time and he coughed on a reflex. This action, though simple as it was, tired him

There was a cozy feeling of softness underneath him, as though he was lying on a cloud filled with velvety down. His body felt so light, it seemed to him he was floating.

There was a caress on his face, shy, tender.

He remembered seeing a strange kind of sun. In fact, there were two of them, an identical pair. They were small and black like dots, their golden rays, delicate as threads, reaching out to submerge themselves into luminous, deep brown. He gazed into them, feeling sleep taking over again.

"It's alright. Sleep now."

* * *

There he was again, in an infinite sea of lavender flowers. Fingers stroke through his thick hair and he knew these delicate hands could only belong to _her_. She was looking at him from above, as he was lying with his head on her lap. An affectionate smile adorned her young features, divinely beautiful that every angel would envy. She was humming, a melodious flow of sounds stemming from her graceful throat.

Although he could not help but notice that her voice sounded a tad differently. Nevertheless, her song brought him an indescribable sense of peace and security so he decided this detail was of no importance. He felt safe, protected. He felt finally relieved from that gloom and fear.

Christine let her silken voice ascend, like a bird flying high towards the sky, to meet with its mate before they both plummeted down, in a playful spiral of their courting dance and then, rising upwards again before reaching the lowest tree branches.

_"…Fly, sweet Nightingale_

_Over groves, over dales_

_Carry your sweet song_

_And my heart's wish along…_

_Sing sweet Nightingale._

_Sing sweet Nightingale._

_Sing, sweet Nightingale, sing…_

_On gentle winds, may you soar_

_Over rooftops, and off the shore_

_Find a lonely bark at the sea_

_And bring my sweetheart a single wish from me…"_

Christine sung about a fate of star-crossed lovers, about how they had to be separated. There were hints in the song that perhaps the man held a high rank and had to be on board the ship, while he left behind his beloved, who had sworn to wait for him forever, her only wish was his safe return home. Whether they were reunited or not, he could not know as Christine's words grew quieter as time went by. Her song was lost in the distance, only an echo of her voice reverberated, as she let it flow in a single, melodious note.

Something felt wrong.

"We must not go into the forest."He heard her whispering, as though she was still near him.

He began to sit up."Why? What's in the… forest?"

Looking around, he realized he was alone. It was dark now and cold wind was blowing, unlike the soothing breeze from before, causing dread to snake into his very bones, bringing uncomfortable shivers run down his spine. All was still and completely quiet now, as heavy, white fog settled, coiling round the trees and like walls, enclosing from all sides. He was deep inside the forest, the same one he was warned not to approach.

He looked up to see dark clouds floating across the indigo night sky. From time to time, they would obscure the only source of illumination in this dark – a gleaming, silver crescent of the moon. But, he had the strangest of feelings that the moon did not look quite right. Just like the lacking stars, it might have been eaten by the shadows, as well.

"Christine?"He called for her, but dared not to raise his voice.

His throat constricted in a dry gulp. He made a single step backwards, realizing that his knees were shaking. He could not find a solid reason for this inexplicable anxiety. His entire body seemed tense, as if he was subconsciously expecting something to jump at him at any moment from this thick mist. His heartbeats thumped loudly in his ears, while he tried to steady his breathing in vain. He exhaled in quivering breaths, which seemed to him louder against this utter silence than they actually were.

_Something was near him, behind him. _These panicky thoughts ran through his head, as he felt goosebumps rippling against his back. Even the droplets of cold sweat that slid down his neck felt like tiny, slithering bugs. His hands balled into very tight fists, the knuckles at the back of his hands turning white. He wanted to move, he _had _to move, but couldn't. His legs felt like stones, unable to budge an inch, as if the earth itself held his feet in a firm grasp.

_If he were to look a bit further… just out of the corner of his eye, what would he see? _

"Erik!"Her scream broke through the silence."Erik, save me!"

"Christine!"Dropping all notion of that paralyzing fright from just moments ago, his legs immediately gained flight. He rushed as fast as he could, even though the air was heavy and his lungs hurt each time he tried to breathe in.

He never saw another form following him closely, hidden in the fog, as black as the shadows lurking in his very heart.

"Erik! Erik, help me!"Her cries for help led him past and in between the ancient giants of the trees and through the mist, as it swirled around him in silvery-blue tinted waves.

"Christine! Christine, answer me!"He called out to her, but only his own voice echoed through the emptiness of the woods."Where are you?"

"Christine!"He pleaded, but there was no answer.

All he could think about was to get to her, to take her in his arms and protect her from any harm. He could think of nothing else, _notice_ anything else, until it was too late.

* * *

How it all turned out to be like this, he did not know. When did everything go so wrong? When did _he _become so wrong?

All he ever truly wanted was to live like everybody else, in peace and for music. While gifted in many things, music was his first love, his passion, his haven. When he was younger, he hoped that through his music people would be able to see past the horridness of his face. Only one did, only _her. _She was _his _Angel of Music.

From the moment she first heard her sing, even though it was yet far from perfect, she had captivated his soul. From that moment on, he could think of nothing but her and she was his muse, she was his most beautiful song, she was… another's. She belonged to someone else.

He laughed. He laughed at his own misery, at his own foolishness. Only pity, he remembered only pity in her dark eyes when they said goodbye. Their first and their last kiss was not filled with passion nor love. Only with pity. At first, she was only enchanted by his voice, he knew full well the sometimes hypnotizing effect it had on people. Then it was curiosity, then blind terror, and in the end… pity.

And she never even knew his name.

He could never make her fall in love with him as he loved her fully. He only made her frightened and even this fear eventually turned to resentment, to sympathy. He could never make her see beyond this face. But what was it there to see? What was really hidden behind the countless masks he had worn? What were those disappointed words she had said, again...?

_"…It's in your soul that the true distortion lies."_

Was his soul ever so black? So utterly, pitch black it seemed it absorbed all light that fell upon it. This beast that pinned him to the ground now glowered at him with such hateful eyes. He wanted to turn his head away from the sight of it, but the sable-furred creature did not let him as it held his face in its sharp claws, in a fast grasp.

The beast was horrendous. Its grayish-green eyes blazed with sheer, mad rage, only adding to an overall atrociousness of its distortion. The entire left side of its face, its muzzle, head and ear was disfigured — a mass of naked flesh exposed, warped and bulging and ghastly pale, riddled with tiny, pulsating veins underneath. The beast growled, snapping its sharp teeth at him, droll dripping on his cheek.

He felt an aching strain his eyes gave, as they widened in terror and revelation. _It was the monster in the mirror._ The monster that lurked at every corner, hid in each shadow, slept under his bed during the day and hounded his dreams at night. It was the reason he was afraid to sleep as a child and it brought the first awareness of being alone. Whenever he tried to reach in the darkness, there was no one to accept his hand. There was no one to hold him, there was no one to chase his fears and give him just a bit of warmth and comfort he craved for since birth, it seemed to him.

"No… No, no, no! Go away!"He managed to raise his hands, cover his eyes so he would not see."Go away!"He whimpered, frightened as he was when he first saw the mirror monster.

"Poor, Erik. Poor, poor Erik."Her voice startled him and he turned his head aside, only to see her wearing the same face of pitifulness as she did the last he saw of her, as though she was regarding a starving and abandoned puppy on a street. But a dull pang in his heart came from the fact she was now in protective arms of the man she was willing to sacrifice her own life and happiness for, only so he could be safe from harm.

"Christine…"He whispered and reached out, his hand trembling, but when she averted her eyes in distaste, hiding her angelic face away inside the embrace of the blond Viscount, his heart sunk.

They turned away to leave and vanished inside the thick fog together. He could only stare after them, as he once did, unable to stop them, unable to catch up to them, unable to reach the height of their happiness. The undeserving wretch that he was, he was never allowed to feel anything but pure despair.

He was left with nothing else in this world, nothing but the beast that now loomed over him. This was his reality, his past and his present, the future he would never live to see. This was his punishment and his crime, his life and ultimately, his death. This was his end.

He closed his eyes as the beast struck. Talons as sharp as knives carved their way deep into his skin, sliced at his ear. The black creature mutilated only the left side of his face, making long, yawning gushes. Each of its assaults dripped with sheer loathing and unyielding wrath but also, with an outraged misery just as well.

Curiously enough, there was no pain. Even as he pressed his hand against the ruined side of his face and blood trickled down his fingers, he felt not even a sting. When he let himself be at complete mercy of the deformed beast, he was washed away with numbness he had never felt before. Helpless, abandoned and broken, he gave himself in to death, willingly and unconditionally.

But something pulled him back again.

The beast still glared at him as it gradually disappeared, fading away into the mist. His stare was empty as he gazed into space, where the monster from the mirror used to be moments before. Now, in its place, was someone else. A female figure approached slowly, her cloak dragging heavily against the ground. A hood cast a shadow that obscured her face, or perhaps it was the mist that covered her features like a fine veil. Even so, she appeared almost ethereal, like a fairy.

She carried the scent of lavender and jasmine with her. He became a bit annoyed by the fragrance that always seemed to calm the storm in him and had the power to entrance him to the state of drowsiness, similar to the effect Christine's voice had over him.

Wind carried the long tresses of her hair that fondled his face in a silky, gentle caress. She reached out to him with small hands and he squeezed them in his own, big ones. These hands were warm and seemed familiar. _Could it be that she came back?_ His heart fluttered with the hopeful thought.

"Christine… I only wished to hear you sing forever. Why did you have to leave? Why couldn't I be the one to make you happy? Christine…"

The small, delicate hands enfolded his in a careful way as though they were holding something very precious and fragile.

"I'm here."That voice whispered.

_**That **__voice? Was it Christine's?_ It was so very gentle and calming it had to be hers. No one else in the world would be this kind towards him.

"I'm here."The voice reassured him.

_So, it __**is**__ her, _he thought with relief and slowly, everything faded away.

* * *

When Erik, the former Phantom of the Opera, opened his eyes, it was already a new day.

* * *

**Just so you guys know, the next update won't be earlier than in two-three weeks or so. I'll have to be a bit careful about that chapter, too. It's the first time Claire and Erik _actually _talk and get to know each other a bit. :) I'll appreciate the reviews. Read ya next time! **


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